Summer of My Eighteenth Year
by Morefindiel
Summary: Patty just turned eighteen. While walking through the streets of London, who should she see but Anton. Her mind's just playing tricks on her, right? Right?
1. Eighteen

**Eighteen**

"Happy Birthday, Patty!"

"Make a wish!" demanded Charlene Madlee, holding out a birthday cake with white icing and sky-blue trim. The crowd around her, my fellow reporters of the _Memphis Commercial Appeal_, all cheered their agreement to her demand.

I looked around the room, at the decorations all put up for _me_. It was more than I could ever wish for. I looked at the smiling faces surrounding me. My colleagues, my friends. I was as happy as I could be.

Almost. Today I turned eighteen, and I couldn't help but remember the story I told six years ago. The lie I had told about my gold ring, the one that even now wrapped around my right ring finger. The ring I was currently twisting with my other hand, more out of habit than nervousness.

Of course, thinking of the ring, which I did much too often, always made me think of its former owner. Anton. Frederick Anton Reiker, to be precise. I had been thinking about him a lot, lately, what with the approach of my adulthood and all. How today would have been the day I would have left on the Greyhound for New York City, then the boat to Germany, and then the train to Göttingen, had it not been for the fact that Anton had been killed. Murdered.

I was taking too long, I could tell. People were beginning to shift, smiles were starting to fade. I laughed, brushing away the sadness beginning to engulf me, as it always did when I thought of his death. "Sorry," I laughed again. They laughed with me.

I still didn't know what I would wish for. The only two things in this world that I wanted were both impossible: my parents' love, and the return of Anton. I decided to just blow out the candles. As Ruth had once said, "wishing don't make nothing so, but prayer sometimes do." I didn't need a wish.

But as I blew out the candles, the faint whisper of "Anton" echoed through my mind. "Anton, Anton."

Anton.

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_A/N: Okay, first published fanfic _ever_, so go easy on me. Also _Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene, not me._


	2. Six Years

**Six Years**

After it was discovered that I had aided a Nazi POW, my parents had left the very dull and dry town of Jenkinsville, Arkansas, and moved to Wade, Tennessee. They didn't want to be too far from Memphis, else they would have probably moved to the wilds of North Dakota.

When I got out of the penitentiary, I lived with Grandpa and Grandma Fried. We thought it would be dangerous, having me attend a school in Memphis, where my trial had been held, but I was willing to take the risk, so they were, too. Memphis was such a big town, after all, and as long as I kept my big mouth shut, we would be fine.

My mother, as expected, put up a protest, but my father shut her up right quick. It surprised me at first, that he didn't want me around just to beat me. But I think he didn't want me causing any more trouble, and that was what won out.

I remember praying to God to save me from my father, and He did. I also remember asking God to make me prettier, and He did that, too. My reasons for being pretty had long vanished by the time God got around to my appearance. I knew my mother would never love me, and Anton was dead. But God answered my prayer, nonetheless, and for that I should be grateful.

Anton had once said that he knew I would have it all – beauty and brains. Personally, I think there is still room for improvement in both, but I suppose I'm satisfied. I once prayed for long, shiny hair, and it has become that. It is beautiful and wavy and has highlights like varnished copper. At least, it does in the sun. In the shade it is just red, but pretty, nonetheless.

I also have breasts now. They are not as big as I would like, but at least it is obvious that I have them. I am still skinny, too. Charlene says that I am just _petite_, but all of the petite girls I've seen have cute faces and soft curves. I am not that curvy, and my face is thin. Ruth says I'm like a woodland sprite, all small and skinny. "And with that almost near constant look of curiosity or mischief on yo' face, mmhm."

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_A/N: _Summer of My German Soldier _belongs to Bette Greene. And these chapters are going to get longer, I promise._


	3. Presents

**Presents**

Grandma and Grandpa give me a birthday party, too. My parents and Sharon have come down from Wade to also wish me a happy get-out-of-their-life-forever day. My aunts and uncles have also come.

Mother gives me a new hat, and Sharon gives me the most expensive and most fashionable dress Mother would let her buy. Sharon may be the standard to which my parents hold me, the standard I will never be able to achieve, but she still is nice, and we love each other.

Father doesn't give me anything. He's never forgiven me, for, well, everything, but especially for Anton. I don't think he ever wants to see me again after today. I don't think I ever want him to, either.

Grandma gives me a pearl necklace and earrings set. They are real pearls, too. Mother doesn't like this, but Sharon thinks it's delightful, and says so.

Mother and Father go to bed early, and they drag a very reluctant Sharon with them. Everyone else stays up much later. But eventually they all go home, and Grandma and Grandpa and I are the only ones left.

Grandma and I are sitting at the kitchen table drinking hot chocolate after cleaning up, when Grandpa walks in. There is a spring in his step and a smile on his face that says that something's up. He is the only person who has not yet given me his present, so I have a good guess as to what he's holding behind his back.

He sits down at the round oak table. Grandma's smiling now, too.

"Patty," he begins, "Mamma and I have been discussing, and we thought that, since you're officially a woman now, and you'll be going into college soon, and you're always talking about traveling, that you should see the world a bit before you begin school."

And from behind his back he pulls out an unsealed envelope and hands it to me. I take it with shaking hands, then slowly open it. Inside is a bus ticket to New York, a boat ticket to England, a house address (where I would stay with friends of the family), several hundred dollars, tickets for a visit to Paris, and boat and bus tickets taking me back home after three months.

I look at the day for the first bus ticket. It is a Monday. In fact, it is this Monday.

Tears come to my eyes, and there is no way on earth that I could stop them. It was too much. I didn't deserve this. I'd been nothing but a burden on them for the past five years. If anything, I deserved a kick right out the front door, followed by a call to, "Find some other place to live."

I cried. Through blurry eyes I could see Grandma and Grandpa looking worriedly, first at each other, then at me.

"Patty?" Grandma called quietly.

I hiccupped. "W-Why?"

"Why what, dear?"

"Why are you being so, so _nice?_ I don't deserve this." Hiccup.

"Oh," Grandma crooned, pulling me into her arms, cradling me. "Oh, oh, oh. Sweetie, you deserve this just as much as the next person. Even more so, in our opinion, and that's why we're giving it to you."

I hiccupped again. "But- But it's so _much_." There was no answer to that, which caused another sob, and a hiccup.

Finally, "Yes, it is a lot, but it is worth _every_ cent." She pulled away and held my face in both hands, staring me straight in the eye. "_Do you understand?_ _Every single cent._"

Grandpa had rested a large wrinkled hand on my knee, offering the best comfort he could. I gave another sob, but my weeping was starting to ease up. The hiccups, however, increased in intensity. Grandpa got me a glass of water.

By the time I had calmed down, I was beginning to smile. I gave them both hugs, and Grandma said I should get to bed, as I would be packing all day tomorrow. I hugged them both again, tightly, and headed to my room.

Once there, my brain began to rush. _Europe_. I was going to _Europe_. When I first realized this, immediately I knew.

Germany.

I could go to Göttingen. I could visit Anton's parents. I could-

I could not.

A visit to the home of Nazism would not be looked favorably upon by those who knew of my past association with Anton. Not to mention that the whole trip, including the visit to Paris, would surely be under the watchful eyes of the English family I was to stay with. A young girl does not travel alone in such a dangerous world.

But what if I _could_. I would call them up, and they would invite me over, and I would show them his ring as proof. And they would cry, and then I would admit that I loved their son very much. And Mrs. Reiker would go get a spare picture of Anton, a small one, and give it to me in thanks. And I would take the picture and buy a locket and wear him next to my heart.

I was silly, I told myself. For a moment I sounded just like the love-struck child I had been at twelve. An adult does not talk like that.

But what if there was a way? A way to visit Germany, undetected, unnoticed. I scoffed at myself. It was not possible.

Still, as I prepared for bed, my mind ran through scenarios. I began planning. Planning couldn't hurt, right? It wasn't as if I was _serious_. Mostly.

I was exhausted, and the pillows felt _so_ good. Plans put aside, I let my mind think of Anton, and only Anton. Too often had I dreamt of him, both when I was awake and asleep. Awake, though, I was at least able to keep my thoughts in check. But at night, the darkest corners of my mind stepped forward and unleashed their torrent of images, unbidden.

Tonight was no exception.

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_A/N: You like so far? If not, stop reading. Anywho, _Summer of My German Soldier _belongs to Bette Greene, etc. etc._


	4. A Dream

**A Dream**

It was the night he left. We had just climbed down from our hiding spot, and I was on the verge of tears. I looked up at him, and he was as beautiful as ever, his grey eyes shining in what little light the moon provided.

He was staring at me. I blushed and looked down at my feet. Heels poked out from underneath the full skirt of my sundress. I was a woman this time, the woman who had fallen asleep at her grandparents' house in Memphis. I was not the scrawny little girl who had hidden this man. This beautiful, beautiful man.

"Well, I must say good-bye now." But he didn't move.

I didn't hand him the money, as I had done that first time, the real time. Instead, I stepped closer, my head still lowered.

"Must you?" I asked softly.

"Yes," he whispered. He reached for my hand, and slid his grandfather's gold ring on my finger. Not the finger he had slid it on that first time, but on the ring finger of my left hand. And instead of being big enough to slip off, it shrunk to fit me perfectly.

"The greater the value, the greater the pleasure in giving it. The ring is yours, P.B."

_And?_ I wanted to ask. _"The greater the value, the greater the pleasure in giving it." Your heart is worth much more than 24-karat gold!_

I heard him breathe in deeply. "Am I still your teacher?" he asked. I nodded, though it was too dark for him to see. "Then I want you to learn this. Even if you forget everything else I want you to always remember that you are a person of value, and you have a friend who loved you enough to give you his most valued possession."

_And?_ I wanted to ask again. _And?_

But instead I answered, as I did that first time, "I will, Anton. I'll remember."

I knew what was coming next. It was my favorite part. His hand lifted my chin. He bent down, and my eyes fluttered closed.

His lips were firm against my own. This kiss lasted longer than the first. And we didn't stand still, as we both had so many years ago. This time, I buried my hands in his hair, holding him close. The hand he had placed at my chin now cupped my face, and the other hand snaked around my waist, pulling me close.

We stayed like that for a moment until he pulled away. "No," I whispered, my hands reluctantly releasing him. He brushed his lips gently against mine, just once more.

And then he was gone. And I was left standing with the sandpile and the chain swing and all of the chinaberries, the wind blowing my hair about my face.

I woke up crying, his name still on my lips.

Anton.

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_A/N: Once again, _Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene._


	5. London

**London**

London.

It was an exciting city, so much bigger than Memphis. And older, too. Even though I had already been in England close to a month, I had felt the age of the country as soon as I had stepped off of the boat. It makes me realize that America really _is_ a young country, as I have heard others mention.

I had already visited so many places in England, seen so many things. Today I just happened to be walking the streets with Mary, one of the daughters of the family I was staying with. We were shopping, that was all. She was pointing out different cafes and clubs and the best restaurants and such.

I had just bought a new purse, and we were walking out of the store, when I saw him.

Without thinking I shouted, "Anton!" I knew I shouldn't've, but it was more of a reflex than anything. He must've just been a mirage that my deluded brain had conjured up. Anton was dead, and that meant that he certainly wasn't roaming the streets of London.

But, to my great surprise, the man I had seen turned his head in my direction, his steps faltering for a moment. A look of worry crossed his face, as if he had done something wrong.

His eyes scanned the crowd, and I knew it was not my Anton, because he would have recognized me right off. Also, my Anton is dead, I reminded myself.

The Man Who Looked Like Anton turned and continued walking, his pace a little faster than before. I turned to Mary, who was standing beside me and giving me a strange look. "Sorry," I mumbled. "I thought I had recognized someone." Mary gave a little chuckle and we continued on.

I had thoroughly convinced myself that the Man was only a delusion, when Mary and I passed one of those red phone booths and, lo and behold, there he stood. Quickly I stopped and began to look at postcards.

Of course, I was not really looking at postcards, but I had to be inconspicuous. The nosy reporter in me listened to the Man's conversation.

Yes. Yes. Yes, he would be leaving tomorrow. No, no one would recognize him. Don't worry, he knew the terrain. Sigh. Yes, he knew. Their superiors wouldn't have hired him for this job if they didn't think he could do this. They also wouldn't have hired if they didn't think they could trust him. Listen, he was in a phone booth, someone could be listening in – I blushed. – He should go.

And he hung up. I turned my back so he wouldn't think I _had_ been listening in. And then I heard him swear. At least, I'm pretty sure he was swearing, but I couldn't tell exactly because it was in _German_.

I couldn't resist, I had to look. I turned around to see, but he was gone.

And I was left standing with my brain spinning like an out-of-control carousel.

Anton.

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_A/N: Not sure how much I really liked this one. The writing spark for this story is already starting to die out. Hopefully it can get finished before the spark is completely extinguished. We'll see. _Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene and all that._


	6. To Göttingen

**To Göttingen**

I spent the time leading up to my trip to Paris to plan. After seeing the Man Who Looked Like Anton, the one who spoke German, I knew that I had to go to Germany. I didn't care if the country was in turmoil. I didn't care that it would look bad for me, considering my "pro-Nazi" record.

And so I planned, and planned some more. Thankfully, I had saved enough money in my bank account at home to pay for my own train ticket, so I didn't have to feel bad about using Grandma and Grandpa's money.

The greater problem was how to escape my chaperones. By the time we actually arrived in Paris, I still hadn't come up with a plan short of bribing Mary to tell everyone I was sick. And I didn't want to get Mary in trouble. It's not her fault I'm in love with a dead Nazi soldier.

Strangely enough, however, God smiled on me, and a day into our trip to Paris, Mary got sick, and her mother and aunt decided to take her back home. I, however, asked if I could _please_ stay in Paris – I hadn't even seen the Eiffel tower yet, and I would be ever so good, and come back to the respectable hotel before dark, and they wouldn't need to worry _at all_. And, somehow, my pleading worked.

After they left, it was easy enough to bribe the concierge, buy a train ticket, and head to Germany. Getting through the border patrols was a bit more difficult, but still doable. I arrived in Göttingen on what was to be my third day in France.

In the hotel, I picked up the telephone and asked the operator for the Reiker family.

"Which one?" she asked.

"Which one?" I repeated.

"Yes, which family? There are three in the neighboring area."

I panicked. "Um. The one with the father who is a professor at the university?"

"Ah. Mr. William Reiker, and his wife Elsa. Yes. One moment please."

I waited, fiddling with the telephone cord. After what seemed like an eternity, there came a voice through the speaker.

"Hello?"

"Hello. Mr. Reiker?"

"Yes?"

"Um. My name is Patty Bergen, and I, uh… I knew your son."

"Anton?"

"Yes."

There was a pause. "You are American?"

"Yes, sir."

"You are in Göttingen?"

"Yes."

"Why did you come?"

Now it was my turn to pause. Why did I come? Was I really expecting a warm welcome by the parents of a soldier murdered by my country? They didn't know me, I didn't know them. What would we talk about?

…I loved your son very much… Yes, we did too… So, how cold does it get here in the winter? Does it snow a lot? …Yes, quite a lot…

This was not going to work. My shoulders sagged. "Ms. Bergen?" I heard Anton's father call.

"Yes?"

"Why did you come?"

I sounded defeated as I replied, "I don't know."

There was another lengthy pause, then, "Why don't you come over?"

My head snapped up. "Um. Okay. Sure. Yeah." And he gave me their address, and that was that.

* * *

_A/N: Welp, I really want to get to the good parts - you know, the ones about Anton. And I don't really feel like talking to his parents right now. And to write a fanfic, I have to be "in the mood" (this usually means that I have to have read the book recently, and currently I have plenty of other stuff to do). _So_, I do not know when this will be completed, if ever. But if you'll review it, then I'll probably continue. So, officially, this story is currently on a hiatus. Also, as always, _Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene._


	7. The Reikers

**The Reikers**

The Reikers townhouse was small, a little slice out of one long brick building. It was quaint, even from the outside, with white lace in the windows and window boxes holding white, yellow, and red flowers.

Even this pretty picture, however, could not calm my nerves. _Be brave_, I commanded. _You hid a Nazi from your own country, why should this be any more terrifying?_ I took a deep breath to steady myself, and the door opened.

An old man, wrinkled and thin but obviously strong of mind, greeted me with a melancholy smile. "Hello, Ms. Bergen. Please, come in." He moved aside and I entered.

He led me to a small but cozy living room, where his wife was already waiting. I shook hands with both of them and we all sat down.

"Coffee?" Mrs. Reiker asked.

I nodded. "Yes, please."

She poured me some and placed the cup in my hands. "There's no need to be nervous, dear." She gave my hands squeeze, and I heard her suck in a breath. Her finger traced over my ring. No, not my ring. Anton's ring. Immediately I could feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

Mrs. Reiker saw this, and gave me a shaky smile. "Never mind, dear. Why don't you tell us about our son." She looked to her husband, and he nodded. I took a deep breath.

I told them everything. Well, except for the part where Anton kissed me. That was something I would never tell anyone. When I told them I was a Jew, Mr. Reiker let out a bark of laughter.

"Truly?" he questioned. I nodded. "Ha! The irony! Oh…" he trailed off, chuckling. "I'm sorry, my dear, continue, continue." So I did.

I had told myself I wouldn't cry, but I had known then that that was a lie. When I spoke of Anton leaving I felt the first tear glide down my cheek. When I told them about my conversation with Mr. Pierce, when he told me of Anton's death, I began the wet sniffling that is always so unflattering.

At this point Mrs. Reiker sat down next to me on the couch and wrapped a comforting arm around me. "There, there, dear. Now, would you like to stay for supper?"

_Yes!_ I wanted to scream. _YesyesyesyesYes!_ But instead I said politely, "No, I couldn't intrude-"

"Nonsense! We never have enough guests in this house! Now come, you can help me cook."

_'You can help me cook.'_ As if I was her daughter. As if I was family. She smiled warmly, and I smiled back, and she gave my shoulders a squeeze.

And that is how I ended up eating dinner with the family of a Nazi soldier. If only the family had been mine. The Reikers were intelligent and warm and loving. By the end of the night, they felt more like my parents than my real parents did.

Mrs. Reiker gave me a strong hug goodbye when I finally left them. I was just beginning to walk out the door when I remembered-

"Oh!" I turned back to them. Sliding Anton's family ring off of my finger, I held it out to them in my palm.

Mr. Reiker shook his head, and so did his wife when I tried to give it to her. Instead, she closed my fingers back over the ring. "Keep it," she said. "Anton gave it to you; it's yours." Then she hugged me again as I desperately tried to hold back my tears.

"Thank you," I whispered.

And with that, I left.

* * *

_A/N: Alrighty. I'm not very pleased with the way this chapter turned out. But oh, well. I have the next chapter almost completely finished, too. However, I seem to have a problem with making these chapters the proper length, at least in my mind - they are too short._

_And many thanks to _**Isirindig1lo**_, who is my _only _reviewer so far. (But that's okay, because how many people have even heard of this book, much less choose to read fanfiction on it? My guess is not very many.)_

_Welp, _Summer of My German Soldier_ and all of its characters, belong to Bette Greene._


	8. A Savior

**A Savior**

I visited the next day, too. However, that was as long as I dared to be gone. The Reikers and I promised to keep in touch. I was still stunned at how warmly they accepted me. I almost cried when we said goodbye.

It was as I was walking home this second night that it happened. So consumed was I by my own thoughts that I did not notice the drunkards on the other side of the street. I didn't pay attention as they crossed the road.

However, I did notice at their shout of "Fräulein!" My brisk pace faltered, but I kept walking. What was it I had said about the world being a dangerous place for a woman all alone?

"Hey, schätzchen!" another called. I ignored them, trying not to change my pace to show them I wasn't afraid. I should have just run, because they caught up to me easily enough. They circled around me.

"Excuse me," I said, trying to push through them. As if that would have worked.

"Amerikaner?" they asked, then grinned at each other like ravenous wolves. _Don't panic_, I told myself, but it was awfully hard not to. One of them reached out and tugged at a loose strand of hair. I knocked his hand away, and they all chuckled. Their circle tightened.

"Mein liebling? Ah, na bitte!" came a voice from behind us. I turned, worried that I was about to face the leader of the group, closing in for the kill. But the circle parted, and a man with black hair and grey eyes stepped in and wrapped his arm around me. "Entschuldigen uns, meine Herren, aber wir sollten wirklich nach Hause gehen," he said to my attackers, and began to lead me away.

"Nicht so schnell, kumpel," said one, putting a hand on my savior's shoulder, stopping him. I saw my rescuer tense, his grey eyes darkening. He turned to face the man, then slammed his fist into other's face.

The others began shouting and lunged at my savior. With skill that was most definitely _not_ found in the German army, he quickly disposed of them, while I stood by and stared with my mouth wide open.

My rescuer grabbed my arm and began walking me towards my hotel. His grip was like a vise, and his face was just as hard. When we passed under a streetlight, I could see his lips pressed into a thin line and his eyes dark like a turbulent storm. He stared straight ahead of us, his face set.

I didn't know what to say. I probably should've stayed silent, then thanked him when he left me at the hotel.

But I never could keep my mouth shut.

"Anton?"

I could see him force a smile as his eyes shifted to me. "I'm sorry? You must be mistaking me for someone else. My name is Victor."

"Oh." My face fell. Glancing up, I saw his eyes soften. He shifted my arm so that it was wrapped around his, his hand resting on mine. My heart sped up. His name may be Victor, but he looked like Anton.

Victor shifted awkwardly. "Just to satisfy my curiosity, who is it that I look like?"

"Just someone I once knew."

"Once?"

"Several years ago. Six to be exact." Six years, nine months, three days, to be exact.

"You must have been a child then. Certainly I must be too old for this person." His chuckle sounded forced.

"No, actually." I studied his face. "In fact, you would probably be just the right age."

He smiled at me, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Well-" He stopped abruptly, and I realized that we were at my hotel. "Well," he continued, more cheerful than before, "here we are." He released my arm. I looked up at him suspiciously.

"Yes…" I smiled gratefully at him and clasped his hands in mine. "Victor, I can't thank you enough for saving me. How do I repay you? I have some money…." I trailed off.

His smile was genuine this time. "No payment is necessary. What kind of person would I have been if I had left you to those men, those beasts?"

"Okay, well," I stepped backwards up one of the front steps of the hotel, "um, thanks. Again." Unsure of what to do next, I turned slowly and continued up the steps.

When I reached the top of the stairs, Victor spoke. "There is one thing," he called. I spun to look at him, hope coloring my face.

"Yes?"

His mouth quirked. "I gave you my name, but you never told me yours."

"Patty. Patty Bergen." Some expression I didn't recognize flitted across his face.

The smile was soon back, however. "Well, Ms. Bergen, 'til we meet again." And giving me a slight mock bow, he turned on his heel and left me standing with my brain spinning. Like a carousel. Again.

* * *

_A/N: So... finally updated. Yay? And _finally_ things are starting to heat up! Yay for Victor, who really looks like Anton!_

_Oh yes, and I suppose I should translate the German for you, right? Especially since I probably butchered the German so badly that even Germans can't read it!_

Fräulein!_ - Miss!_

Hey, schätzchen!_ - Hey, baby!_

Amerikaner?_ - American?_

Mein liebling? Ah, na bitte! _- My sweet? Ah, there you are!_

Entschuldigen uns, meine Herren, aber wir sollten wirklich nach Hause gehen._ - Excuse us, gentlemen, but we really should be getting home._

Nicht so schnell, kumpel._ - Not so fast, buddy._

_Anywho, so there's that. I apologize to anyone who can actually read German, and was going, "What the heck?" and also to those who can't read German and were going, "I'm so lost!" But there you go._

**_If you can translate it properly for me, please let me know._**

Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene, do not own, etc, etc._


	9. A Midnight Visit

**A Midnight Visit**

The return trip to London was, to say the least, uneventful. Dreadfully so. Of course, the whole voyage was spent thinking of the Reikers, and Anton, and Victor. Especially Victor.

My first night back in England wasn't any better, either. I dreamt that Victor _was_ Anton, and that on the steps to my hotel, instead of just saying goodbye, he had proposed. The next night, I didn't even want to go to sleep, but thankfully it was dreamless. The third night, my English family went out for dinner at a friend's house. I didn't go, claiming to have a headache, when really I just didn't feel like smiling and socializing.

I read for a while before going to bed… only to be awakened by someone in my room. "Mary?" I called out, somewhat afraid that the person in the room was _not_ one of my family. He wasn't.

A shadow moved out of the corner and into the moonlight of the window. "Anton?" Was I dreaming? The man didn't move. "Victor?"

He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "Patty Bergen," he sighed, "I came to leave you a note. However," he gave me a wry smile, "either I am not as good as I thought, or you are a _very_ light sleeper." He stepped over to my bed, placing a folded note in my hand, and turned to leave.

"No," I called, and my other hand shot out to grab his. He turned back to me, an inquisitive expression on his face. I blushed. "Will– Will you stay? At least until I fall asleep?" My cheeks reddened even more. He looked at me incredulously. I couldn't meet his gaze. Mumbling, I explained, "I figure that as long as I'm dreaming, I should at least enjoy it." His expression turned to one of mild humor, but he complied, sitting on the edge of my bed and soothingly stroking my hair as I drifted off.

"Good night, Patty Bergen."

* * *

_A/N: Okay, here is a super-short chapter for you. I wasn't going to post it until it was longer, but I need to tell you all something. In case you haven't looked at my profile, I must tell you that the schoolwork is piling up, and so I will not be writing for another three months or so._

_Hopefully my inspiration for this story won't die out by then. Ha._

_Anyway, sorry guys. See you in a few._

Summer of My German Soldier_ belongs to Bette Greene._


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